Stretching her arms high the woman let the robes drop, spreading
bright as spilled blood across the well trodden boards.

Purple.

Her breath stopped, suffocated. For a single moment she was frozen in the
past, in the violet streaked twilight which shrouded their first kiss; the
blackberries he crushed against her tongue, their sweetness trickling from her
parted lips; the rich silk scarves he trailed against her hot skin and tangled
around her pale wrists. Under her red
rimmed stare the purple pool pulsed, writhed, summoned.

No!

Too late.

She lifted her head, teeth bared in a smile as a chariot
rolled on stage. Smiled at the crowned
man standing within, at the dark eyed girl half concealed behind him.

Whore.

He met her gaze with startled recognition.

Yes, it’s me.

But he knew that. Their linked names shouted from tattered
poster boards all along the streets of Covent Garden,
marched side by side in well thumbed programmes. It was the hundredth time she
had stood just so with her arms outstretched and her head held high, the
hundredth time she had mouthed the familiar lines, smiled the lie.

His nostrils flared and beneath his golden tan, the blood
drained from his cheeks. Oh yes, he saw. It changed nothing. Agamemnon would step onto the purple tonight.

The show must go on, after all.

At the back of the stage the skene swung open, yawning like the mouth of hell. She took his hand and led him, bull-like,
into the gloom.

He jerked as the doors shut, half turning as if to run. His fingers trembled as if they were not
standing in a stage set, hidden from the gaze of a bored audience. As if he was standing in a tomb. As if he knew.

The show must go
on.

“Remember our wedding day?” she murmured.

“Darling, I-“

She stopped his words with a kiss, knew the subtle rejection
of his closed lips. In the wings a
chorus of voices swelled loud with lamentation.

“Forsaking all others,” she said, softly. “’Till death us do part.”

Reaching behind her into the shadows, her fingers closed on a
long handled shaft.

Oh Meg... such language. I just lov how you write. "knew the subtle rejection of his closed lips." So poignant and telling. A chilling premonition right from the start and a conclusion that did not disappoint. Loved it!

There's a lot to take in here. Just on the imagery level, this is a powerhouse piece--such use of color and details, like the blackberries in the kiss. But then the story that unfolds beneath the lights--just wonderful pacing and pairing of elements. Lovely.